No Rest For The Wicked
by Liimbo
Summary: "Everybody deals with grief differently," Talon remarked. "Some people fuck at funerals." A nod to the departing. "He cuts off heads."
1. The Memory In The Coffin

It was the winter evening of a new moon. The snow had yet to come, and the winds were restless, rustling bare oak branches and sweeping up the mountains of autumn leaves on the estate's grounds that had been raked together in the morning by the gardeners, throwing what had once fallen back up and out into the world.

In a room of the estate, the woman sat at a desk of mahogany wood, hunched forward and as still as the stone chiseled contemplative figures of long dead men that were housed in temple halls and museum galleries. Behind her the window shutters were half-open, and the leaves flew by, swirling in the whispering air, none of them floating in, as if they all had to go and they wanted to say one last goodbye.

The room's only door creaked open, and an adolescent girl popped her head around the frame. "Milady," she murmured. "Master Tal wanted to let you know that there's a guest waiting for you out in the back courtyard."

"Did the guest give a name?"

"No milady."

The woman raised her head. "Sarah was it?"

"Yes milady."

"Have a seat. You've been working here for three weeks and two days. Is that correct?"

The girl plopped herself down in the other stool before the desk, her hands on her lap. "Yes it is."

"Do you know the kitchen boy? Lief if my memory is correct?"

The girl's face twitched and she gripped the fabric of her skirt. "I may have spoken to him a couple of times, milady," she slowly answered, glancing at the floor. "I don't really know him that well."

"The chef has told me he has seen enough reason last night to lead him to believe otherwise."

Sarah's eyes widened and she leaned forward in her chair. "But nothing happened," she protested. "We just talked."

"And at such late hours, talking can lead to so much more. Don't blush, girl, it's the truth. First they want to speak to you. Then they want to hold you. Then even that won't be enough for them. Men who could wait till the wedding day are as rare as cats that can bark." The woman rubbed her eyes, blinking. "But I digress. Sarah, I don't want to meddle in your love life. However, I also do dislike hearing about my servants' dalliances." She nodded. "Just so we're clear."

Sarah blinked. "Milady, are you saying that I can still see Lief?" she asked tentatively.

The woman waved a hand in exasperation. "As I just said: if the chef or any other member of the staff of this household complains to me of you two making a racket of any sort of manner, I will be upset. Now, you may go."

Sarah beamed. "Yes milady!" she exclaimed, standing up and dipping her head in gratitude. "Thank you milady!"

"There's nothing to thank me for. Good night Sarah. Please, do try to get some sleep this time. What did I say about blushing?"

"Sorry!" Sarah covered her cheeks and hurried out. A beat passed, and then she hastily poked her head back in the room. "Good night milady!" She dipped her head and then she was back out of sight again.

Katarina Du Couteau shook her head in dismay. She gave Sarah a minute before she pulled herself away from her father's desk – her desk, she reminded herself – and proceeded downstairs, rubbing her eyes again as she did so. She'd been poring over the ledgers by candlelight again, and despite the many times she hid from tutors and their lessons in her youth, she remembered enough numbers to know that the figures for last month weren't good. No matter how hard she tried, she just didn't have a head for managing her House's investments. Steel was more her business. Steel and stilettos. Not commerce and trade.

"You're still up, miss?" The butler called up to her as she descended the stairs. Hair gone grey long ago. A face wrinkled in a kind smile.

"You know me, Jacque," Katarina replied. "Sarah said there's someone waiting for me out at the courtyard. Did you happen to see the fellow?"

"I'm afraid not, miss." Jacque bowed. "Do you want me to bring refreshments?"

"No, I'm sure it'll be fine. If he didn't come with an entourage, then he's probably not nobility. At any rate, it's too late for that sort of thing."

"If that is your wish, miss." Jacque bowed again. "I'll be retiring now, unless there's anything else that might be needed?" He asked pointedly.

"Nothing that comes to mind. Good night Jacque."

"Good night miss."

Katarina went into the foyer, tucking her white velvet shirt back into her trousers, rolling her sleeves down and redoing the buttons up to her throat. Nobility or not, there was a need to keep up some semblance of appearance. Other noble ladies would greet visitors with pomp. They would take the time to apply mascara, paint nails, and gloss lips. They'd keep their hair plaited and tied with ribbons. Not her. Never her. Except for dances in ballrooms, and even then, she did it under duress. She preferred pirouettes with thrown daggers, but she had to think of the guests.

Stopping at a nearby mirror set in the wall, Katarina looked herself over, hastily rubbing with a thumb the ink splotch she had absentmindedly smeared onto her cheek and tucking blood-red locks away from her face and behind her ears. She ignored the dark circles under her eyes. Nothing could be done about them. She meant what she had said to Sarah. As for herself, there's no rest for the wicked. Particularly when she kept waking up in a cold sweat before the dawn had even arrived.

Clearing her throat, she stepped to the doors and pulled them open.

The cold wind hit her immediately, pulling her hair back in a stream and tugging at her clothes. Katarina stepped out onto the porch and saw the figure sitting on the stone balustrade and looking out over the courtyard, with the autumn leaves gliding in the air and the swaying trees.

"And here comes the lady of the house, and not a moment too soon," the guest drawled, turning her head around to look at her with a wry grin. "You're up for a drink?"

"Riven?"

The other woman beckoned her over with a hand clad in a riding glove, her boots carelessly dangling off the edge in an eerily girlish manner. Her snow white hair had grown and was tied back in a high ponytail. She was holding an enormous bottle by the neck. "Best I could find on the Island," she explained as Katarina approached her. "I know how you like your wine."

Some people were like that. One goes by a few years without seeing them, and when they do, the distance of time would dissolve like dust in the rain.

"Which year was it from?" Katarina asked, pulling herself up and sitting down beside her on the balustrade.

Riven held the bottle up and turned it about. It was unmarked. "Dunno. Care to try some? Don't look at me like that. We'll take turns. I know it's been a while, but I wouldn't poison you. You know me. Come on, sit down! Talon told me you just got back from Demacia. What was that all about?"

* * *

 _One Week Ago_

 _They said it had been quick, Katarina recalled, as she watched the porters walk past her with the coffin on their shoulders. They said he hadn't lingered, she bore in mind, as the priest droned on about God's plan; a plan so intricate and baffling in its design that the man of the cloth could say no more than that there actually was a plan. Somehow she found that less comforting than if the priest was to say that the fate of sudden death was not pre-ordained by divinity but random chance. At least chance was fair. At least Lady Luck didn't pretend to give a damn._

 _As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, the priest intoned, now finishing up his sermon with scripture, I will fear no evil, for you are with me, your rod and your staff comfort me._

 _So she knew that the accident had been sudden and short. She only wished that the funeral had been the same, what with less of these people gathered around her with their dramatic mourning and their crocodile tears. What with the weeks it took to plan this. She was willing to bet that over half of the crowd had never shared a word with the deceased, let alone an actual conversation. She had, many times, but at sword-point. Except for that one occasion._

 _You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows._

 _A baron a few rows behind her whispered in complaint to his wife. The baroness shushed her husband with a sharp word. Katarina would have rather wished it were with a sharp blade, but that was not how things worked in Demacia._

 _Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Amen._

 _His book snapped shut. The crowd applauded. Katarina didn't join in. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry, because surely the dead deserved better than a standing ovation for a sendoff._

 _Of course the dead will be missed. They will also be forgotten, and remembered on anniverseries if they're lucky. The living must always put the dead behind them, because the living must go on ahead._

 _They were in open fields of green and upon a hill overlooking the rest of the cemetery. It started to rain as the coffin was nailed shut and lowered into the ground. Not a drizzle, but a thunderous downpour to match the one that went for three days and three nights to drown the world, or so the priest's texts told the tale. Katarina wondered if God had ever been to Noxus, where the tumult of storm's rain could continue for weeks on end, such that the roads became rivers and the sewers seas. Or Zaun, where the droplets burned naked skin and flesh like acid, as infused as they were with the chemicals of the city's brown smog and black fumes._

 _Katarina pulled her hood up and yanked her oilskin cloak around her, already feeling the water run down her hair and neck and drip into her eyes. As the crowd dispersed, they all wondering if they were mentioned in the will, or having already put the entire affair behind them, what they were going to have for lunch, as the living were wont to do for things that didn't really concern them, Katarina looked to her friend who was trying in vain to open her parasol. In mourning or not, she didn't look good in black. "Here," the redhead muttered, taking it from her hand and walking alongside her. "Let me do it."_

 _Her friend nodded. Her eyes were still puffy and bloodshot. Somehow that just angered Katarina even more._

 _But then again, she thought, as she glanced back and saw that the gravediggers were already setting themselves to the task of shoveling mud over the six-by-six hole in the ground, the man in the coffin wasn't her brother._

* * *

"So how have you been?"

Riven shrugged. "Been better," she mumbled as she adjusted to the knockback of the liquor. "You?"

Katarina grabbed the bottle from her. "Alright, I guess."

Riven raised her eyebrows as the redhead took her swig. "You guess?"

"Shut up." The bottle traded hands again. "I've just been very busy."

"How so?"

"Paperwork. Spreadsheets. Paying taxes and trying to find ways to cover debts and leases before the collectors start knocking on my front door."

Riven grunted. "The more you own, the more you've got to manage. That's the burden of nobility. I don't envy you."

Katarina snorted. She was starting to realize just what made a House strong these days, and it was money, not blood. An irony when she remembered the old mottos the patriots bellowed as they marched on the streets when she was a little girl. The chants the soldiers took up as they raised shields and charged enemy lines when she was their commander. The slogan emblazoned below the country's emblem on the front door of High Command since before she was born. The times when things had been much simpler than they were now. Or perhaps they were always this way, and she was finally growing up and pulling away the blinders the naïve and innocent tended to have over their eyes before they become cynics.

"Enough about me," she said. "How are things on the Island?"

Riven started talking about the Ionians rebuilding. New bridges. New houses. New towns. Recreating what was destroyed in a few days of war took many weeks, months, years in peacetime. Riven's been doing her part in it all, hammering the nails and laying the bricks along with the rest of them. Katarina had noticed, along with the missing sword on Riven's back, that there was a small band of twine on her middle finger.

"Progress's been slow," Riven said, handing the bottle back to her. "But we're getting there. You should come with me on my way back. The weather's a whole lot warmer then Noxus could ever be. They actually have a summer over there."

"I don't think I'd be welcomed. Treaty or no treaty."

"I'll vouch for you. The times have changed now."

Katarina thought of the last time she was in Ionia. Burning fields. Burning houses. Burning temples. Holding her nose as she passed the bodies piled by the roadside with flies buzzing in the air and maggots on their slack faces. Watching the rivers redden as the crocodiles fed on floating flesh. Firm when the fathers and mothers were brought before axe and sword, noose and stake. Silent as the children were forced to dig their graves. It's been six years, and unlike the corpses, some memories had a habit of staying fresh. But just like ghosts, they brought bad dreams.

Indeed. Perhaps the times have changed, but people never forget.

"So what do you think?" Riven asked, smiling.

"Raincheck." Katarina put the bottle to her mouth and threw her head back. The wine was sweet and strong, and the year it was made was probably a year for excellent vintage back on the Island, but Katarina was still bitter. She wiped her mouth with her sleeve. "I have a lot on my plate now. Lots of paperwork. Maybe sometime next year?"

Riven's smile wavered. "Sure. Fine. Whatever."

* * *

 _One Week Ago_

 _"Shit happens," Talon had muttered, back when Katarina had first received the invitation to the funeral and after she had let him read the contents of the letter. Thinking about it in the carriage on the ride away from the funeral, she found his words to be more concise than any epitaph anyone could come up with for a toast; more eloquent than any inscription the stonemasons could engrave on the tombstone. Indeed. Shit happens. Let everything else go without saying. That there is a better place that people can go to only once they have died. Katarina tried not to look at Lux as she pondered this._

 _"You're probably wondering why I wanted you to come along with me to all that,' the blonde woman asked in a quiet voice that somehow managed to pitch itself over the sounds of galloping horses and pounding rain._

 _"The thought did cross my mind."_

 _"I believed he would have wanted you there, you being his nemesis and all that. You know he talked about you a lot."_

 _Katarina smiled. Years ago, boys and men loved to talk about her, Noxian and otherwise. They still do, but not as much. There were other sixteen year old nymphs with emerald eyes and flaming scarlet hair now. Always have been. Always will be. "What did he say?"_

 _Lux smiled and gave a little careless shrug. "Don't know. I just remember that it was practically the first time he ever seemed interested in a woman. Not romantically so, I mean. For him, it's always been the army and the country first. It used to drive Mother crazy when she tried to get him to attend a banquet, hoping he'd fall in love with one of the girls there. Father even once asked him if he preferred men. I thought it was just in jest, but I think he wouldn't have mind if it turned out to be true. Father could never be disappointed by him. He always looked to him over me." Another shrug. There was a slight catch in her voice now. The tiniest of quivers in her lips. "And I always thought what with the war being over, I'd never have to worry about him getting himself killed any more. Just seems unfair.'"She sighed and shook her head. "Just seems unfair."_

 _A horse. A rearing horse and gravity had killed him. Not an epic battle amongst beasts and magic for the future of Demacia. Not a duel between master swordsmen for the hand of a beautiful maiden in marriage. Not even a tavern brawl over a spilt mug of ale that tasted so bad it could be used for wood varnish or paint stripper. Just a simple tumble from the saddle when out on the royal hunt was what did him in. Falls on his head one fine afternoon, and all the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put Sir Garen Crownguard back together again._

 _Katarina wondered what she'd do if Lux broke down right this instant. Would she hold her and comfort her? Would she scold her? Or would she just ignore it? She learnt long ago what her father and her people thought about crying. Even at funerals in Noxus it was looked down upon. Stoicism was strength. Here though, sobbing was something to be encouraged, welcomed even, and that baffled her._

 _"I must seem quite wretched, don't I?" Lux remarked sheepishly._

 _Katarina shook her head. "Hardly. I was just thinking that it's strange, that we'd only get to know each other better when he died and not before."_

 _Lux's eyes widened. Then her face twitched and she broke down into tears again._

 _Katarina sighed. Her sister was much better at this sort of thing. Had been. She leaned forward and beckoned that the blonde woman should hug her._

 _The horses whinnied as the carriage came to a sudden halt._

 _Lux drew away and smiled weakly. Katarina nodded and threw open the carriage door. She stepped outside and noticed something peculiar. She held her hand out and up to the heavens. Completely dry. No rain now._

 _"Strange," she muttered, lowering her arm._

 _"You say something?" Lux jumped out beside her and waved off the coachman._

 _"Just talking to myself. Pay me no mind." Katarina craned her head up and took it all in. The rows of bushes sheared and trimmed till they resembled dragons and pegasi and griffons. The white doves and pigeons perched about on the tree branches. The excessive dozens of stairs leading to the mansion up at the top of the hill. A lot of grandeur. A lot of preening. Much like their people._

 _"Remarkable, isn't it?" Lux asked out loud._

 _"Yes," Katarina murmured. "Remarkable."_

 _In the inns and taverns, they say that King Jarvan IV has a dragon for a mistress. A human girl with inhuman eyes who guards his back and warms his bed. Katarina would rather that her own partners were at least, amongst other things, mammalian, but that's just her opinion on the subject. Perhaps it's not enough that kings can sleep with any normal woman they want. After all, royalty had to eclipse their subjects in all things by reputation, or why else would the people take them seriously?_

 _"Come on," Lux urged, taking her by the hand. A peculiar gesture, till Katarina realized that she was trembling ever so slightly. "Let's go meet my parents."_


	2. The Poison In The Glass

"Why are you here, Riven? You know what Noxus thinks of you."

Riven shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I just wanted to see you again. Maybe I just wanted to talk."

"Riven, it's been years since we last spoke to each other."

"My point exactly."

Katarina studied her carefully as she swigged. "It's flattering for you to say that. But I wasn't born yesterday." She leaned closer, feeling loose, feeling daring, which meant the alcohol was doing most of the talking now. "Haven't you found someone else on the Island by now? I'm sure you have. You're more friendly with them than you ever were with your own people, don't you think so?"

Riven's eyes flitted to the band of twine on her middle finger, and Katarina jumped on that moment of weakness. "You're married, aren't you?" she pressed.

"Two years ago," Riven answered. Something in her face twisted. "I don't want to talk about it."

Katarina frowned. "What happened?"

"Here, give me that. It's my turn."

"What's he like? Who is he?"

"He's a stubborn man who demanded from me things I couldn't give. Let's leave it at that." Riven stared at the bottle, and something in her gaze suggested she very much wanted to throw it across the courtyard. "I don't want a heart-to-heart, and I especially wouldn't want it with you. No offence."

"None taken."

When soldiers were cut in the field, the wounds needed to be cleaned before they could be sowed and stitched, or there was a chance that gangrene or tetanus would set in. Best way to do it was with hot iron. Barring that, drink could also work. She didn't know the why of it, and she never cared to find out. Perhaps alcohol just happened to be good for injuries of mind and body.

Riven passed the bottle back into Katarina's hands. She hadn't taken her turn. "I think I'm done for today."

Katarina glanced at her and shrugged. "More for me, I suppose."

"Well I did bring it for you."

It was just after a skirmish at a Ionian village. Katarina remembered a man with a bleeding arm who didn't want the flame, and there was no whiskey at hand, for it had been guzzled down just the night before. "It's fine. Just a scratch. Little boy got me with a hoe," he'd grunted, waving the corporal and sergeant off. "It'll heal on its own."

She remembered the other two soldiers sharing a knowing glance, before the corporal tackled him and pinned him as the sergeant put the red-hot poker into the wound. The man howled and fainted and swore bloody vengeance afterwards, but he got to live, and another man, who bandaged his injury and lied, wasn't so lucky. First there was the swelling. Then there was the smell of pus. Then the rot started to spread upwards, darkening the skin. The captain wanted to amputate, but the man had pleaded for something else. Cripples were just one step above beggars in Noxus, and for some people, better a short life as a whole man than a long life as half a man. The captain refused, and decided to make him an object lesson.

"Nothing good came from letting anything fester. Pain avoided can be pain prolonged." Katarina recited out loud, before swigging.

Riven glanced at her. A beat passed, and Katarina stared ahead. "In the Coeur Valley, where I went missing," Riven murmured, "the weapons used by the Zaun still have interesting side effects on the land. The soil there is too sick for crops, the fish in the rivers have extra fins and eyes, and apparently the air is still poisonous to breath. The people who survived the acid-fire also didn't escaped unscathed. For years, the unlucky ones developed boils in their mouth and throat. Their skin started shedding and their hair fell out in clumps. If they didn't die immediately from all of that and the fever, they became delirious, violent even, and then they died."

Katarina shrugged. It wasn't news to her. Morbid, but such was war. "And? You're fine. The only thing it did for you was take the pigment out of your hair."

Riven shook her head. "I told you I was married. I didn't tell you I was also pregnant. Twice. Two girls." Katarina met her eye then and quickly looked away as she saw something she didn't want to see. "Both labours nearly killed me," Riven continued, her voice steady. "And both of them failed. I was told not to expect any more." She cleared her throat. "That's why I couldn't see you after the treaty was signed."

"Was that also why you and him stopped seeing each other?" Katarina suddenly asked, guessing. "And you came here?"

"No. Not even the half of it," Riven replied flatly. "We had problems even before I had the children, but their deaths, well, they were the final straw for the both of us."

Katarina set the bottle aside, rested her hands, and leaned back, thinking. "He's a warrior?"

"Sword-master. From one of their schools."

"As good as you?"

"I wouldn't settle for less. Luckily we never met during the war."

"I'll say. Seems rather poetic that two killers can't make a life."

Riven chuckled. "You think?"

"By the way, before I forget again. What did you do with your sword?"

Riven hesitated. Riven never hesitated. She opened her mouth, shook her head. Katarina waited. Finally Riven said it.

"I threw it into the ocean."

* * *

 _One Week Ago_

 _Old habits die hard, and some people, like dogs gnawing on their favourite bone, loved to hoard their grudges, for they have hated to the point where they couldn't remember why they hated or what they would do if they ever let go of that hate. Demacia and Noxus as a whole were just like that._

 _It didn't help that Lux also didn't see eye to eye with her parents. Perhaps it was because both her and Katarina were, by appearance and temperament, conflicting with Mr. and Mrs. Crownguards' impression of the ideal noblewomen. One an assassin. Another a spy. Both in their mid-twenties and without a husband or a fiance. Their reputations dubious, even scandulous if the rumours weren't taken with a grain of salt. Perhaps it was because of the timing, since the Crownguards have just buried a son. Their only son. The one who would have carried the family name into the next generation. Their hopes and future now beneath the earth. Or perhaps it was because Katarina was literally the only woman Garen had ever chattered about, and now that his parents have finally gotten to meet her face to face, they find her lacking, and that tells them that there was a part of their son they couldn't understand and definitely never will. Whatever the case may be, when the father quietly excused himself to head upstairs to his study, with Lux excusing herself a minute afterwards to follow him and berate him for his impoliteness, Katarina was left alone with the mother in the living, and looking at her, Katarina tried to smile, but knew she was grimacing. Her sister was better at these types of things. Always had been._

 _She cleared her throat. "Mrs. Crownguar-"_

 _"No, please. Call me Lila." The older woman leaned forward on her, clasping her hands together, smiling a mild smile that was much like her daughter's, except it didn't quite reach the eyes. "I'm sorry about my husband. He's taking it rather hard at the moment."_

 _"It's perfectly fine. It was a bad time for me to come," Katarina said. "I-"_

 _And just like that, her tongue tied itself into knots and her mind went blank. Katarina faltered, and she knew other noblewomen wouldn't falter if they were in her place. They could make conversation with a drooling mute. Banal, boring conversation, but conversation nonetheless. Her conversations tended to end with someone on the ground and bleeding, but that wasn't how things worked in Demacia, and recently, Noxus was starting to become just like that to her as well._

 _Lila turned her head to look out the window, as if to admire the petunias, the chrysanthenums, and the marigolds, but she was waiting for Katarina to continue. They both pretended not to hear Lux raise her voice upstairs, her words indistinct but her tone apparent. Katarina stared at her hands as they clutched a cup of tea. She sipped to give herself time, but then all she could think of was the possibility of her it being poisoned, and how, treaty or no treaty, old habits die hard. She should know. She'd seen Talon do it before. Wolfsbane. Nightshade. Hemlock. Usually he'd mix them with mortar and pestle. Sometimes the poison only needed skin contact. The victims could die frothing at the mouth, trousers and the floor soaking as they lost control of their bowels, or they could just go to bed and never wake up again. Whatever the desired effect. Katarina set her tea down._

 _"Do you not like the tea we have prepared?"_

 _'No I do. I've always loved tea." Katarina stared down the cup. No doubt about it. It was definitely from the Island. She'd seen sets of these taken out by soldiers when they were pillaging the towns. Museums in Piltover brought some of them from High Command. Not just kitchernware. Fans. Kimonos. Tomes and grimoires. Spears and ancient armour. The Crownguard residence even had a katana in one of the glass cases she passed in the hallway. Ionia would, of course, ask for everything back, but invaders, especially the defeated ones, liked to hold onto what they've already taken._

 _"Let me guess," Katarina said, taking the cup in hand again and looking down it, noting the sunset orange tone. "Oolong?"_

 _Lila smiled. "Chamomille, actually. Do the Couteaus drink tea?"_

 _"No. My father preferred wine."_

 _"In that, my husband is not too dissimilar. You ever thought about marriage?"_

 _"Not really." She sipped again. Why did tea have to be drunk when it was hot enough to burn your lips?_

 _"Garen told me he once proposed to you."_

 _There was something else that separated Katarina from noblewomen. They'd never gag. Tell them things better meant to be said by the pillows than the dining table, and they'll widen their eyes and blush, but they'll never choke. They'd sooner die than sound like a cat about to hurl a furball. Or Kat._

 _Lila waited till she had recovered her voice, offering her a handkerchief. Suprisingly, she didn't look disgusted. "You don't recall?"_

 _"Not really," Katarina lied. She wheezed, cleared her throat and took the cloth._

 _"Strange. That's usually not the sort of thing a girl would forget, especially one who'd never been courted before."_

 _That was because her sister was the suitors would usually look to, and after the accident happened and they started sniffing around the younger, less hissy Du Couteau, she dissuaded them, and did it at swordpoint. "You'd be surprised. I'm not like most girls."_

 _"Now that I don't find hard to believe."_

 _Katarina nodded and stared at the tea again with handkerchief and hand over her mouth, forcing herself to calm down as her heart hammered in her chest._

 _Didn't even have to be herbs. Talon kept some snakes somewhere. He would give them mice he'd snatch from the cellar, and extract the venom himself for blowdarts and occasionally soak throwing knives in them. But some variants work just as well in beverages. Funny thing is, though he never once got himself bitten, the same can't be said when it came to her sister. Those two didn't get along from the very beginning._

 _Upstairs, the father was the one now yelling. Something heavy crashed upon the floor. Lila Crownguard stood up. "Please excuse me," she said coldly. "This shouldn't take too long."_

 _Katarina waited as she heard the mother ascend the stairs. She waited as she heard the woman start speaking in a hushed tone. She waited as the mother lost her temper like her daughter and husband._

 _She stopped waiting, stood up, and saw herself out, handkerchief still in hand._

 _When Lux ran outside to find her gone with the carriage, one of the guards told her he overheard her asking the driver to take her into the city._

* * *

"You know I love you. Not like actual love-love but you know what I mean?" The wine was all gone, and all that was left was her mouth moving on its own, spilling things her mind never remembered thinking. If the truth was ugly, booze twisted it and made it embarrassing, liberating. "Like my father kept dogs, and when one died, he would take a shovel and bury it out on the field on his own. Like, he wouldn't ever fuck a dog, but he loved them, you know? Man's best friend and all that?"

"I know. So you think of me as your dog and you'd bury me when died?"

"No no, not like that. Well, I'd definitely do the burying, but not the dog part. Just the shovel."

"Uhhuh, right."

"Seriously, I thought we're having a moment here, and now you're...don't smile like that. Come on. I'm being honest here."

"Of course. We're trading confessions now."

"I mean, if you weren't married, I'd take you for a roll. Shit I'd try it right now, and your man can go fuck himself."

Somehow they both found that funny, and so they both had a fit of laughter that degenerated into cackling and ended in watery eyes and coughing.

Riven gasped as she clutched her sides. "Please don't. You'd probably spew on me."

"I think you underestimate me. I never spew."

"Kat you're drunk. Go home."

"I am home!"

They started laughing again. Katarina shoved Riven, but too hard. Riven yelped. Katarina felt her grab her arm, and together, they slipped off the balustrade head-first and screaming as the earth below rushed up to meet them.

* * *

 _One Week Ago_

 _The place was all but packed to the rafters. Sitting at the counter, it was impossible for a customer to get some elbow room. Being a beautiful woman, it was impossible to not be the centre of attention._

 _Being a Noxian, it was impossible that there wouldn't be trouble. The kind that needed violence like bullies needed someone to be bigger and badder than them._

 _Katarian found hers as a pair of men stood up from a corner table, their hands adjusting trousers and belts, the spurs on their boots jingling as they stepped towards her. She tried to meet the bartender's eye but he was already striding away to take someone's order. So be it. Already she could hear all conversation and noise slowly fading to a low din, everyone's mouth yapping with their eyes on her and impending company._

 _Draven was right. Everyone loved a spectacle._

 _Both men stopped a stride away, close enough for her to smell the liquor on their breath and the sweat and grime on their clothes. One of them hacked up a gob of spit, and it landed in Katarina's glass with a plop. The people sitting on either side of Katarina stood up, dropped the payment for their tabs, and left._

 _The second man said, loud and proudly, so everyone could hear: "My friend here doesn't like you."_

 _Katarina raised her head and flicked her gaze towards him, taking it all in. Face flushed. Eyes wide. Chin jutting out aggressively, like an ape. His friend was similar, except he had a goatee and wasn't blonde but dark-haired. Hostility made monsters of people. If they had been sober, they'd probably be cute. If they were smart, they'd have stayed that way much longer._

 _She smiled sadly. His face tightened. "I don't like you either," he declared. "You don't belong in this city."_

 _She thought that was completely understandable. Sometimes she felt the exact same way about herself._

 _Katarina looked away and raised her hand up to the bartender to order another._

 _"Hey! Look at me when I'm talking to you!" He stomped forward and pulled her by her jacket._

 _The man was right-handed, and he was gripping her left shoulder. Twisting around in her seat as he yanked, her left hand grabbed his bicep, holding the arm still and straight, while her right hand snapped up and across in an open palm._

 _Everyone in the room heard the elbow snap._

 _That was when the screaming started and the running began._

 _The other man moved quickly, but Katarina was already standing and shoving his howling friend into him. The two stumbled back together, and the uninjured one recovered and lunged. Something loudly snicked and then Katarina's foot was sweeping up._

 _The merchants barely managed to throw themselves clear as the body crashed onto their table and toppled their chairs, knocking meals and drinks to the floor. The door to the outside world slammed open on its hinges as people fled._

 _Katarina beheld the man with the broken arm, who whimpered and hissed curses under his breath as he tried to pull himself up and against the counter. She twisted her head and glanced at her glass, the brandy untouched, and she noticed the cockroach crawling right next to it, antennas waving and dark shell gleaming glimly in the light._

 _An example had to be made. It was not how things worked in Demacia, but this room was hers the moment they wanted blood, for blood was Noxus's way._

 _"I'm really sorry about that," she drawled, turning back to him, her gaze making him quiet. "But where are my manners? Let me make it up to you."_

 _Outside someone called for the city watch. The bartender dropped his head behind the counter and fell out of sight. The man's eyes widened as she picked up the insect and dropped it into the glass._

 _Running footsteps coming closer. A voice bellowing for people to get out of the way. Inside, the people who remained stared at the scene in silence, shrinking back into the shadows where they couldn't be seen. The body on the table wasn't moving at all/_

 _"Here," Katarina said, stepping towards him, face gentle and smile sheepish as the cockroach writhed in the golden water with the bubbles. "One for the road. It's on me."_

 _Everyone left after that._

* * *

Running out onto the balustrade after hearing the screams, Talon found them giggling and choking while lying belly up on the ground. There was an empty bottle nearby. As their laughter spluttered into coughing, they both looked up at Talon's expression, glanced at each other, and started laughing again, a note of hysteria in their voices, until Katarina got up on her knees and threw up on Riven's boots. Then the whole courtyard was filled with two people shouting and swearing.

As they scrambled to pull Katarina inside, it finally started to snow. As the last leaves floated up and away, the white flakes, whiter than Riven's hair, white to the point where they were merely the absence of darkness, drifted down and landed on their heads, on the trees and upon the earth.

The wind died, and darkness fell upon the land.

* * *

 _One Week Ago_

 _When the captain of the watch and two of his subordinates ran into the tavern, weapons at the ready, they didn't know what to make of the strange picture before him. They didn't even know where to begin:_

 _The man convulsing on the floor and frothing at the mouth, eyes rolled back and a sprawled arm with a morbid shape._

 _The redhead sitting at the counter a few steps away, speaking cheerfully. Clothed like a man. Hair smooth and let down._

 _The bartender pouring her a drink, his face twitchy and his hands trembling to the point where he spilled several drops onto the wood._

 _The fact that the place was usually just about packed to the rafters at this time of the afternoon._

 _"Loosen up!" The redhead was saying. "That stuff doesn't come with the rain." She clapped him on the shoulder. "Look, why don't you have this pint? I think you need it more than I do."_

 _The captain nodded to one of his men as he lowered his crossbow till it was pointed at the floor. "Take care of him." He loudly cleared his throat. "Excuse me?"_

 _"Yes?" the redhead asked turning around in her seat as the city guard rushed forward to kneel and examine the man on the floor. "Can I help you with something sir?"_

 _"We were told there was screaming coming from this place." The captain watched her carefully, noting the scar that ran near her eye. "Is everything alright?"_

 _"Absolutely sir," the redhead replied, her green eyes wide and innocent. "That man over there just collapsed and hurt his arm after he drank something he seemed to disagree with. Someone went to get a doctor here, while everyone else decided to try another establishment where there's less chance the booze won't make them faint."_

 _The captain met the bartender's eye. "Is that right?"_

 _The bartender licked his lips nervously, glancing at the redhead before looking back to the captain and nodding furiously. He'd have left, but he had fainted from dizziness and had just woken up a few moments ago, confused but afraid._

 _"Strange then that you would still be here, lassie."_

 _"I like to give every place I visit a try. I am nothing if not fair."_

 _There was a low groan from the corner of the room, drawing everyone's attention. The captain turned and saw a second man raise himself up and onto his knees with his face in his hands, surrounded by broken plates and shards of glass, with bits of food on his soaked shirt and trousers. The captain jerked a thumb. "What about him?"_

 _The redhead frowned. "I'm not sure. I think he had already passed out when I came in." She shrugged and shook her head at the sorry sight with disapproval. "Drinking should be done in moderation, wouldn't you agree, sir?"_

 _"Certainly," the captain replied stiffly, watching as the second man try to rise. "Piers. See if you can help that man up. Get him into a chair."_

 _"Harold," said the guard kneeling over the first man. "This one's alive but out cold."_

 _"Well that's a relief. Don't worry about the arm. It'll be taken care of." Harold looked at the redhead and the bartender in that order. He rubbed his brow. Something was definitely not right. Even a blind fool could see that. But if he arrested her, how could he explain it? I saw two unconscious men and thought the redhead, who's shorter than the both of them by a full head, assaulted them. With her bare hands too. "I suppose we shall be leaving then. Let the doctor sort this out..."_

 _The redhead smiled prettily and stepped out of her chair as the captain's men went to the door, leaving the captain and her standing in the centre of the room. "Of course. Sorry about the inconvenience, sir," she said, crossing forward and holding her hand. "I just wanted to say...thank you for keeping the peace of this fair city. Truly appreciate it."_

 _Harold nodded. She looked familiar. Very familiar. A fleeting memory. Like a fish nibbling at the bait. Perhaps it would come back to him later . He still had a shift to finish. "Just doing my job." He reached out to take the proffered handshake, and that was when he noticed it._

 _The redhead's boots. One of them had a small blade sticking out from the end of the toecap. If she were to kick someone, that person was going to have a hole in them. That aside, the mechanism was an invention used by career criminals, spies, assassins and occasionally the intelligent cutthroat who knew how to make it, but more importantly, it was illegal due to it technically being a concealed weapon._

 _The redhead followed his gaze, and her face tightened as she saw what he saw. "Oh dear," she murmured, looking up and seeing the captain's crossbow pointed directly at her chest as the man warily stepped back, his colleagues already falling suit._

 _In a corner of the room was the second victim sitting in a chair. Blood was pouring out from his face and beneath his fingers. Lots of it. A small puddle was forming at his feet._

 _"Alright now, lassie. Let's have the truth from you now," Harold ordered._

 _"Well," the redhead murmured, holding her hands. There was a snick as the blade retracted back into the boot. "Would you have believed me if I said it was self-defense?"_


	3. The Angel And The Hawk

Katarina woke up with throbbing nails in her skull and a mouth drier than the Shurima Desert. Clutching her temple, she dragged herself up and stumbled away from her bedroom, clothed in the same garments from last night, and coming downstairs, she found Talon and Riven chatting in the kitchen with the smell of brewing coffee in the air. The scene made something in Katarina's heart ache in a way that was worse than the pain in her head. They looked content. Happy. Katarina wanted to hurl, and bet she looked like it too. Wasn't fair that Riven could shake off a hangover when she herself couldn't. She should have refused the bottle.

"Did you both fuck last night?" She demanded as she halted in the doorway, halting their conversation.

"Love you too, Kat," Talon replied, the least put out. The cook and servant boy kept their gaze elsewhere, pretending not to hear their noble lady swear. Talon gestured. "Have a seat. I'm afraid the coffee's just for me and her. Don't argue. You'll be taking only water for today."

"For the record, he tried," Riven said. She cleared her throat. "The fucking I mean."

Talon shrugged without shame. "What can I say? Blondes, brunettes, and redheads are aplenty, but she's the first snow angel I ever saw."

Riven pursed her lips as she processed that, eyes filled with mirth. "He's still trying," she amended. She turned in her seat and looked at Talon. "Flattery can only get you so far. Do you have a gift for me?"

"How about a kiss?"

"Sorry, no dice."

"You're sure? I'm pretty good at them if I say so myself."

"I think I'll need a second opinion."

Katarina pulled herself a chair and slumped into it. Placing her arms on the table and her forehead on her arms, she continued to listen to the two flirt and banter with each other.

 _This is what Father might have been like, when Mother was still alive,_ she thought. _Able to joke. Able to grin. He wouldn't be wearing mourning black all the time, and he would see me and ruffle my hair and ask if his little princess had forgotten to say good morning._

She closed her eyes.

"Kat?"

"It's alright. She could use the rest," Talon said, his voice drifting from afar. "Don't worry about it."

* * *

 _One Week Ago_

 _Harold closed the door behind him, pulled his chair out and sat down. Steepling his hands, he stared at the person seated opposite him. He'd dealt with a lot of tough customers in his time as a public servant, and before that as an army sergeant, but this, this was something completely new to him. A novel experience in fact. "Well," he said stiffly, projecting authority and mustering judgemental anger. "What do you have to say for yourself?"_

 _Katarina shrugged. "I'm sorry, but if worse comes to worse, I'd do it again?"_

 _"That's not what I wanted to hear." Note of reproach. That's the trick. Got to get them ashamed. The common thief and run-of-the-mill murderer have already justified their actions before they were even caught. Have to punch holes in their reasons. "I understand that they both harassed you, but all the witnesses tell me you attacked first. He reached for your shoulder." Harold shrugged. "You overreacted. He and his friend wouldn't have hit you. In that place, with all those customers around, all he could do was talk and talk, and all of that's just him losing hot air and trying to stir up some shit. The fault's yours, and you should consider yourself lucky that they're both still going to be able to live to see tomorrow."_

 _Katarina blinked. "Gee, is this how you talk to your own daughters?" She quivered her lips and pouted. "Yes, Father. I really have been a most wicked child, but I have seen the errors of my ways. Truly. Let me confess, for I've sinned!"_

 _Harold flinched, and knew that was a point to her. "Which leaves us the question as to who you happen to be, lassie. I know you're from Noxus, but I don't know any more than that."_

 _"Oh? And what makes you think that I am one of those backward warmongers?"_

 _"The statements of the witnesses for one. Apparently one of the men called you a Noxian."_

 _"And we all know that if they say something it has to be right."_

 _"That will be up to the courts' decision." Harold waved at her face. "There's also the matter of the red hair."_

 _"You're telling me you can't find a Demacian with red hair? Shame on you."_

 _"Then what about the contraption in your boot?"_

 _"Something to protect myself with. The difference in the time required between using it and drawing a blade could be the difference between myself coming home alive and me being raped and left for dead in a ditch. You're going to charge me for thinking of my own safety, captain?"_

 _"You're putting words in my mouth. Be that as it may," Harold continued, pushing on. "I-"_

 _The door behind him opened._

 _"Harold, may I have a word with you?"_

 _It was his direct superior. The commander._

 _Harold stood up, looked carefully at Katarina, who met his gaze impudently, and turned to walk past the commander and outside._

 _"This will take just a minute, miss," the commander said stiffly. "My apologies." He closed the door. "Harold. Step over here please."_

 _"What's going on?"_

 _The commander sighed, glancing around as other people bustled around them in the hallway. He waited a few seconds till people were out of earshot before he lowered his voice. Harold immediately didn't like where this was going. "I'm afraid you're going to have to turn her loose," the commander eventually said. "Word from upstairs. From the top floor, figuratively speaking."_

 _"Who is she?"_

 _"She's a visitor, and she has diplomatic immunity. That's all that they'll tell me I'm afraid. The rest is just speculation, which even if correct, won't be confirmed or denied." He clapped Harold on the shoulder and gave a nod towards the door to the interrogation room. "There's a carriage waiting for her outside. One of the men told me it has the Crownguard emblem on its door. Now, I know that you have official procedures to go through, but just this once, don't worry about paperwork. The whole thing's going to be swept under the mat. Charges dropped and everything. Just get her out of those cuffs, apologize, and let her be on her way."_

 _"Sure thing sir."_

 _"Good man." Harold watched him walk away, and then he turned around and went back into the room._

 _Katarina stood up as he entered. She held her arms and irons out, beckoning, a knowing gleam in her eye. "I suppose he told you what you needed to know?"_

 _Harold stared at her, sighed, and got out his key. "I just have one more question before I let you out," he said as he unlocked the shackles._

 _"I'm listening."_

 _"Both of the men you assaulted in that building are still alive. With missing teeth, broken bones and whatnot, but alive nonetheless." He looked at her closely as he picked his next words. "You could have killed them?"_

 _"Maybe," Katarina replied as she massaged her wrists._

 _"Why didn't you?"_

 _"I didn't feel like attending another funeral," she answered. "Let's leave it at that."_

* * *

"You're alright?"

Katarina lifted her head from her arms, meeting Talon's eyes. She looked around. She didn't remember hearing Riven leave, didn't remember everyone else leaving either. "How long was I out?"

"Just a few minutes. Here." Talon took out a small phial, opened it and poured a mouth of a colourless liquid into her mug of water. "It's for the headaches," he explained.

Katarina drank, and grimaced. "If you're trying to kill me, you could give me something less sour." But as she said that the throbbing in her skull dimmed a little. Just a little, but now she thought she could probably last the day.

"Uhhuh." Talon leaned back and pocketed the phial. "Do you want to talk? Riven won't tell me what you two discussed last night."

"It's private," Katarina croaked. "Hush-hush stuff. For us girls only. Not for your ears."

Talon smiled thinly. "Fair enough." He stood up and threw on his jacket. "Take care of yourself. I'll see you later."

"You're heading off somewhere?"

"Just riding out to the Port District." Talon stopped at the doorway where Katarina had entered through. "Someone has some information for me. But he wants to tell me in person. Hush-hush stuff."

"Talon, please don't tell me you're still looking for Father?" She didn't know what was worse. The fact that she had already given up, or the fact that she didn't know what she'd do if Talon ever found him. What would he say when he saw the miserable state of their House now? How would she be able to explain to him about what happened to Cassie?

"I thought you didn't want to talk about that." Talon turned back to look at her, and his face was stony. He acted like this whenever someone brought up the subject of the man who took him in and gave him a life off the streets, away from the sewers, and beyond that of a gutter rat scrounging for leftovers.

"I know. I know." Katarina waved a hand at him. "Slip of the tongue. It's nothing."

Talon again smiled that humourless smile. "Right. I'm sure it is."

Katarina watched him leave, and then she looked around the kitchen, all alone.

The House of Du Couteau was rotting away. Slowly but surely. There were of course, ways to save it, ways to ensure its continual survival in this new age. But they required a sacrifice, one that Katarina was not prepared to give, perhaps never, and because of that, she may have just doomed her family's legacy.

She heard clicking sounds and heavy panting coming from the doorway. Then, he entered, tail wagging and tongue lolling out. He ran up to her, padded around in a circle till his back was facing her before he planted his rump on the floor with his head held high.

Katarina smiled. "Well, at least you'll never leave me, right Jager?" she asked as she laid a hand on her father's last hound, rubbing his head and scratching his ears.

Jager barked. He shrugged her hand off, turned around and stood up on his hind legs, placing his paws on the table. Katarina pushed her mug away, turned in her chair, grabbed him below his armpits and steered him to move his paws off and onto her knees.

"You know you remind me of someone," Katarina murmured, watching as he nosed her shirt, sniffing. He himself smelt wet and musty. His pelt was coated with fresh snow. "Do you want to know who?"

Jager glanced up at her, opened his mouth, and yawned.

Katarina scowled. "I'll take that as a no then."


	4. The Words Better Left Unsaid

AN: Will be italicizing the past from this point onward. Also fixed the earlier chapters for new readers. Sorry for the delay.

* * *

 _Three Years Ago_

 _"You could always, you know, come with me?"_

 _Katarina turned around and glanced at the man leaning out the window, he already dressed as she buttoned up her shirt. "And go where? To Demacia? To political asylum?"_

 _Garen shrugged. "Anywhere." He looked away from the view of the road and meadows and met her gaze. "It'll just be the two of us. Like those old fairytales."_

 _"How sweet." Katarina stood up with her trousers in hand and began to get her feet in them, bending at the waist as she did so. They watched each other as she dressed, the two of them separated by the bed with wrinkled sheets that stood in between them, and the knowledge that after last night, things had to go back to normal. "We could open up a flower shop somewhere, take on new names and have two children. Both girls of course."_

 _Garen raised an eyebrow as her ankles and thighs disappeared beneath the clothing. "Only two? I was thinking six."_

 _"Six would kill me, if not before I push them out then after when they drive me insane." She stood up and pulled the trousers up to her waist, jumping ever so slightly as she did so, her hair bouncing with the movement. She brushed locks out of her eyes. "Two's manageable. I only got two hands and two eyes after all."_

 _"Four. You're forgetting it would be the both of us. And it's a nice even number."_

 _Katarina smiled and shook her head as she got her belt clasped. "Three. Twin girls and a boy. I'm the one with the uterus, Crownguard. You don't get an opinion."_

 _"I'm sure I can talk you around."_

 _They chuckled and looked away, their stances now tense as they realized where their conversation just took them. People always loved to fantasize about the bedplay, brag about their performance and exaggerate the number they performed with, but they never liked discussing what came after. When morning came and they had to leave the bed, trading goodbyes and wondering whether what happened was just going to be 'that one time' or whether it'd be something more. Whether it'd be a mistake if they left it there. Or perhaps it'd be a mistake if they started making promises they would not be able to keep._

 _Katarina cleared her throat and started scanning the floor for her boots. "Well, you probably tell all the other women the same thing."_

 _Garen was shaking his head. "Not really."_

 _"Sure." She pulled her jacket around her and start forcing her arms into the sleeves, suddenly feeling vicious. "I definitely know that this wasn't your first time for that matter."_

 _"What's that supposed to mean?"_

 _"Nevermind."_

 _"Now wait just a minute." He was near shouting now. Not there yet but definitely nearing the edge. He was always easily baited when she was doing the taunting, or the tempting, and she just couldn't seem to resist the idea of leaving him very much alone. "I don't think I like your insinuation." He pointed at the bed, at the wrinkled sheets and creased mattress. "You didn't seem to have any complaints back then."_

 _"Well perhaps I'm starting to regret it now."_

 _"Was it something I did?" Garen asked. "Should I have waited? Should I have known that we'd be like this one day?"_

 _"I never said that."_

 _"Well you meant it. Just because you're not my first doesn't mean I wouldn't want you to be my last. And while we're at it, let's talk about you for a minute. It may be just my imagination, but I doubt this was new to you either, am I right?"_

 _"Crownguard, lower your voice," Katarina warned, putting her face in her hands and striding across the room, putting more distance between them as she gave him her back. "People can hear you."_

 _"Let them hear. I'm not finished yet." He stepped closer, his face set in a stormy frown. "Was it Darius? Or your father's favorite pet?"_

 _"You're overreacting."_

 _"Am I? Well that's what you wanted, wasn't it? Wanted us to end it like this? End it with a fight like always!"_

 _"You know what your problem is?" Katarina asked, turning back to him, lips curled and eyes wide. Now she was the one near shouting. She threw her hands up. "You're never thinking of the bigger picture. Come with you? And cast off our family names and live in a village somewhere as commoners? Six children scampering around the cottage with the family dog as you sit at the table with your coffee while I put on an apron and take a broom to the porch? It's just like you said. A fairytale. We've grown past that a long time ago. Keep dreaming. It's never going to happen. There are things expected of us! Obligations to fulfill!"_

 _"So we ignore them!"_

 _Katarina turned and kicked a table over, the furniture crashing loudly upon the floorboards, freeing puffs of dust from the ceiling downstairs. "Oh yes! Ignore them! As if everyone will congratulate us when we do! Oh aye! I'll tell my father I'm going to be a housewife and bind my arm to a Demacian before the altar, fuck tradition and fuck what anybody else thinks. And he'll say 'Sure thing! I'll tell everyone the good news. If only your mother had been able to see this day! Good golly I can't wait to be a grandfather!' Was that how you imagined it would happen? You think it would be that easy?" Her leg swept out. A chair joined the table on the floor with a clatter. "Fucking shit-for-brains!" Another chair._

 _"I never said it would be easy," Garen replied more quietly. "But wouldn't it be worth it?"_

 _Breathing heavily with chest heaving, Katarina ran a hand through her hair, teeth gritted and face scrunched up with hate. She breathed heavily. "I don't want to find out, and I think we've both said enough. Now leave."_

 _Garen didn't move. Didn't budge. They were standing very close now. Close enough to think about taking this argument, with all its pent-up feeling, back to the bed at the other side of the room, where they could have a reprisal of last night and make it last till noon, or till the bed broke. It would only need one more step. But then again, it wouldn't exactly fix anything, and they'll have to get out eventually._

 _"I'm not asking, Crownguard! Fuck off!"_

 _Garen turned and stalked away, snatching up his saddlebags and sword from their place beside the bed before heading for the doorway._

 _The door thundered shut and the walls shook. Katarina lifted one of the chairs back onto its feet and plopped herself down upon it, putting her face in her hands. She waited till she heard the horse outside trotting onto the paved road with its rider, hooves clopping on the stones, before she went to glance out the window. She pulled her head out of sight when Garen turned to look back her way._

 _He asked for the impossible. He thought the world of her, but the world wouldn't accept the two of them in matrimony. And neither could she accept a different life then the one she spent her life being groomed for. That's just the way it was unfortunately._

 _Katarina hobbled away and resumed looking for her boots. Fuck but her foot hurts._


End file.
